Chapter 20 – Almeria
The kitchen is a warzone of spilled flour, clattering pans, and the smell of burnt toast.
And somehow, it’s perfect.
I lean against the counter, one hand braced against my aching lower back, the other resting protectively over the swell of my belly.
Seven months pregnant, and I’m starting to feel like a very round, very irritable planet orbiting around my chaotic little family.
"Remind me again why we thought homemade sandwiches would be better than just ordering pizza?" I mutter, eyeing the disaster zone in front of me.
Gaspare grins from across the room, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead.
"Because," he says smugly, expertly flipping a grilled cheese with a flick of his wrist, "you're nesting. And you said, and I quote, 'we need to make Luca’s lunches with love, not laziness.'"
I scowl at him, even as I feel the laugh bubbling in my chest.
"I hate you," I grumble.
He crosses the room in three easy strides, boxing me in against the counter with his arms.
"No, you don’t," he murmurs, dipping his head to nuzzle my neck.
I squeal and squirm, laughing breathlessly as he plants soft, teasing kisses along the curve of my throat.
"You’re impossible," I whisper, smiling against his hair.
"And you," he says, pressing a hand to my belly with infinite tenderness, "are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
My heart flips painfully.
Even after all this time, he still says things like that.
Still looks at me like I’m a miracle.
Still makes me feel like one.
Gaspare brushes his thumb along the edge of my jaw, his other hand still splayed protectively over my belly.
"I’m telling you," he says confidently, "it’s a boy."
I snort softly, shifting against the counter.
"You have absolutely no way of knowing that," I tease.
"I don’t need a way," he says smugly. "It’s instincts. Gut feeling."
I arch an eyebrow. "Since when do mafia Dons trust their guts over science?"
He grins, completely unbothered. "Since my gut led me straight to you."
I roll my eyes, fighting the ridiculous warmth that spreads through my chest.
"And if it’s a girl?" I challenge.
His expression softens instantly, the playfulness giving way to something raw and breathtaking.
"Then I’ll spend the rest of my life scaring off every man who dares look at her," he murmurs. "She'll know she's a princess from the moment she opens her eyes."
My heart stumbles at that.
I grab the front of his shirt and yank him closer, needing to feel him against me.
"You’re unbelievable," I whisper against his mouth.
"And you," he says, brushing his lips over mine, "are the best thing that's ever happened to me."
His kiss starts slow—sweet, savoring.
But it doesn’t stay that way.
Within seconds, the heat flares between us, desperate and magnetic.
Gaspare’s hands slide under the hem of my maternity dress, caressing my thighs with a touch that sends shivers racing through my entire body.
I moan softly, clutching his shirt tighter, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between us.
"You're dangerous," I breathe against his mouth.
"And you," he growls softly, lifting me effortlessly onto the counter, "are worth every risk."
He presses himself between my legs, his body hot and hard against mine, his mouth devouring me like he’s starving.
Years of scars, of battles fought and survived, dissolve between us.
All that remains is the fire.
The love.
The unstoppable gravity that’s always pulled us together.
His hands roam up my sides, his kisses growing rougher, more desperate.
When his teeth scrape lightly against my throat, I shudder, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and holding on for dear life.
And just as I tilt my head back to give him more access, just as Gaspare’s mouth trails hot, open-mouthed kisses along my throat, a small voice cuts sharply through the haze.
"Ewwww. Seriously?"
We freeze mid-kiss, like two kids caught red-handed sneaking cookies before dinner.
Slowly, reluctantly, we turn our heads toward the doorway.
There stands Luca—wide awake, fully dressed for the day in his fencing uniform, his little practice bag slung over one shoulder.
His hair is neatly combed, but his expression is all attitude, one eyebrow lifted almost to his hairline in pure judgment.
He taps his foot against the floor, looking between us like he can't decide if he’s annoyed or just traumatized.
Gaspare groans quietly and buries his face in my shoulder for a second.
I stifle a laugh, smoothing my hands down the front of my maternity dress and clearing my throat.
"Hey, sweetheart," I say, trying to sound composed. "Ready for your fencing lesson?"
Luca huffs and rolls his eyes. "I was ready ten minutes ago. But you two are too busy being gross."
Gaspare lifts his head and tries to look stern, but the twitch at the corners of his mouth betrays him.
"We weren’t being gross," he says, deadpan. "I was... appreciating your mother."
"That's even worse," Luca declares dramatically, dumping his fencing bag by the door with a heavy sigh. "First I get grilled cheese sandwiches with the crusts still on, and now this?"
I bite back a laugh, while Gaspare crosses the kitchen and ruffles Luca’s hair despite the boy’s half-hearted attempt to dodge him.
"You’re not even supposed to like girls yet," Gaspare teases. "You’re still in the phase where they have cooties, remember?"
Luca grabs his fencing foil from his bag, brandishing it at Gaspare with all the fierce seriousness of a knight defending his honor.
"Well," he says grandly, "when I like someone, I won’t do all that gross stuff where everyone can see."
Gaspare smirks and puts his hands up in surrender.
"Fair enough."
I walk over and crouch slightly to zip up Luca’s practice bag, adjusting the strap so it fits more comfortably on his shoulder.
As I do, I catch the fond, exasperated glance he sneaks at Gaspare, like he’s pretending to be annoyed but really loving the attention.
It warms me from the inside out.
This is what normal feels like.
Messy, chaotic, hilarious normal.
"Alright, kiddo," Gaspare says, clapping his hands together. "You ready to go win your fencing lesson?"
Luca puffs up proudly, slinging the bag over his shoulder with exaggerated swagger.
"Always."
As he marches toward the door, I catch Gaspare watching him—something soft and powerful moving across his face.
And when he glances at me, it's there too.
A silent promise.
A life he intends to guard with everything he has.
Once Luca is ready for his lesson, Gaspare grabs his keys from the counter.
"I’ll take him," he says, his eyes warm as he ruffles Luca’s hair again. "You rest."
I smile gratefully, brushing a kiss across Luca’s forehead and smoothing a wrinkle from his fencing jacket.
"Win big today, champ."
"I will!" Luca promises, practically bouncing on his toes.
Gaspare throws an arm around his small shoulders and together they head out the door, laughing about some inside joke I don’t catch.
I stand in the doorway long after they disappear, staring after them, a bittersweet ache blooming in my chest.
There was a time, not too long ago, when mornings were filled with fear.
When every knock at the door made my stomach lurch.
When I woke up wondering if today would be the day my past caught up with me for good.
Now, my world hums with a different kind of energy—chaotic, loud, imperfect.
But it’s ours.
Safe.
Real.
I place a hand over my belly, feeling the soft, fluttering movements inside.
A second chance growing within me.
A life not born of fear or violence, but of love.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply, letting the moment soak into my bones.
This home—the creaky floors, the endless sunlight, the cluttered kitchen counters covered in half-finished projects—it’s more than shelter.
It’s a heartbeat.
A promise.
A family.
By the time Gaspare and Luca return, carrying sandwiches from Luca’s favorite deli and stories about a fencing match that involved "epic" footwork and "at least five flips" (though Gaspare’s amused expression suggests Luca’s exaggerating wildly), the afternoon sun is sliding down toward the horizon.
We eat at the kitchen island, the three of us squeezed together on stools that are slightly too small, laughing between mouthfuls.
Gaspare wipes mustard off Luca’s chin with a napkin, muttering fake complaints about "messy little warriors," and Luca giggles so hard he nearly falls off his stool.
Afterward, Gaspare carries the exhausted boy up to his room, slinging him over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes while Luca howls in fake outrage.
I follow them slowly, one hand on my lower back, smiling so wide it hurts.
Gaspare deposits Luca onto his bed with a dramatic grunt.
"Defeated!" he declares. "The fencing champion is vanquished."
Luca sticks out his tongue, then immediately cuddles into his pillow, eyes already drooping shut.
I kiss his forehead, pulling the blanket up over him, and smooth his hair back gently.
Gaspare does the same, his big hand dwarfing Luca’s small head.
We stand there for a moment, watching him drift into sleep, the golden light of the setting sun painting the room in soft, dreamlike hues.
I feel Gaspare’s hand slide into mine.
I squeeze it.
Hard.
When we finally leave Luca’s room, we move quietly through the house, every creak of the floorboards a familiar symphony.
Downstairs, the house feels different now.
Softer.
Heavier with meaning.
Gaspare doesn’t say a word—he just takes my hand and leads me to the couch.
I sink into the cushions with a grateful sigh, my body aching in that heavy, contented way that only love and exhaustion can bring.
He joins me a second later, pulling me gently into his lap, cradling me like I’m something precious.
I curl into him easily, my arms wrapping around his neck, my face tucked into the warm space between his jaw and shoulder.
We sit like that for a long time.
No words.
No expectations.
Just breathing each other in.
Outside the windows, the last of the sunlight fades, leaving only the soft glow of the lamps and the crackle of the fireplace Gaspare lit earlier.
I run my fingers lightly over the back of his neck, feeling the slight roughness of his hair where it curls against his skin.
"You know," he murmurs into my hair, "this is everything I never thought I could have."
I pull back slightly to look at him.
His eyes are shadowed with something deep—something raw and beautiful.
"I never thought I deserved it," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "Not after everything."
I press my palm to his cheek, forcing him to meet my gaze.
"You fought for this," I whisper. "For us. For him. You built this with your own hands. You deserve every second of it."
A shaky breath escapes him.
"You gave me a family," he says quietly. "You gave me a reason to believe I could be more than the life I was born into."
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back.
"You are more," I tell him fiercely. "You’re everything."
His arms tighten around me, holding me as if letting go might break the world.
"I love you, Almeria," he whispers against my forehead. "I love you more than I know how to say."
"You show it," I breathe. "Every day."
I press my hand to my belly, feeling a faint, fluttering kick.
"Our family’s just getting started," I whisper.
He smiles, the kind of smile that lights up his whole face, that makes my chest ache with how beautiful he is when he lets himself be happy.
"I can’t wait to meet him," he says, his hand sliding over mine.
"Or her," I tease.
He chuckles low in his throat, that sound sending shivers down my spine.
"Either way," he murmurs, "they’ll know what love looks like."
Gaspare shifts, tilting my chin up with two fingers.
His mouth brushes along the curve of my neck, slow and tender, his breath hot against my skin.
A shiver races down my spine, and I close my eyes, surrendering to the simple magic of his touch.
Each kiss he presses to my skin feels like a promise.
A vow stitched into every beat of his heart.
I tilt my head to give him better access, my body melting into his.
His arms cradle me like I'm made of spun glass, like I'm the most precious thing he's ever held.
"I could stay like this forever," he murmurs against my skin.
"So could I," I whisper back, my voice catching with emotion.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes.
The firelight casts him in gold and shadow, and I think I've never seen him look more beautiful than he does right now—with love softening every hard line, every scar, every piece of him forged by years of survival.
I brush my fingertips along his jaw.
"I was so scared," I admit quietly. "For so long. I didn’t think peace like this could ever belong to me."
His hand slides down to rest over mine, still pressed protectively over my belly.
"It does now," he says fiercely. "I swear it."
I nod, my throat too tight for words.
For a long moment, we just sit there, listening to the house breathe around us—the crackle of the fireplace, the faint creak of wood settling, the occasional muffled sound of the ocean beyond the windows.
Upstairs, Luca sleeps soundly in his bed, safe and warm.
Our son.
Our miracle.
Gaspare leans in again, pressing another kiss to the side of my neck, then resting his forehead against my shoulder.
I run my fingers through his hair, rocking him gently, soothing him like I would a man who had been fighting wars his whole life and had finally come home.
Because he has.
We both have.
After everything.
After all the storms and scars and battles we survived—we are here.
Together.
Strong.
Whole.
I close my eyes, letting the peace of the moment settle deep inside me.
My hand strokes my growing belly, feeling the steady, reassuring life blooming there.
Gaspare's hand covers mine.
The fire crackles softly.
The night wraps itself around our home like a promise.
And for the first time in a long, long time, I know...
We're going to be okay.
More than okay.
We're going to bloom.
Together.
Always.